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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29876511">Stash</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moz17/pseuds/moz17'>moz17</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fargo (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>American Sign Language, Food, Food Issues, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:34:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,287</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29876511</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moz17/pseuds/moz17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Where Wes had felt rage at being denied what he believed he should have had as a child, Grady had learned to never let anyone know that he wanted something."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mr. Numbers/Mr. Wrench (Fargo)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stash</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wesley was always hungry after they had finished a job. Not in the direct moments following the elimination of their target or targets but later, once they had disposed of the remains, cleaned themselves up and put sufficient distance between themselves and the scene of the hit, he would experience a surge of appetite. He couldn't explain it, nor did he particularly want or see a reason to do so. It was a small celebration, he supposed, knowing they had completed a job assigned to them and it spelled a coming period of liberty for him and his partner.<br/>
It was early morning and the pale, winter light made everything somewhat blurred, softer. They had taken care of their target in the very early hours of the morning, or very late at night, depending on your perspective, and after driving a few hours had judged it safe enough to stop here, at a diner in a place that was not a town but just a blip in the landscape, interchangeable with all the other diners they had been to throughout their partnership. </p><p>Wesley's order arrived and he tolerated Grady's tired, long-suffering glance at his ice cream sundae. Yes, he was aware it was the start of the day and most folks had not even yet had their first morning coffee but he did not care. He was hungry, their job was done, and he wanted a damn ice cream, and a big one at that. He was unfazed by any glances or reactions others around him may have had, he was too used to eliciting such reactions anyway. He began to eat his sundae, relishing the sweetness. Pausing as he licked his spoon, he glanced at his partner – he was in need of sleep, that much was clear. He was also on edge, in a way unrelated to the aftermath of their job, although that was also certainly colouring his current state. Grady tended to be more anxious and restless once a hit was carried out, but not during the moment. In the moment, it was as if some veil came down, preventing him from being hesitant in any way or reluctant to do what was necessary, making him forget his own self and life, putting himself in harm's way, tunnel vision reducing his world to a drive to eliminate the other presented to him at all costs. Then he would come down from this, as if the knowledge of the suspended state hit him fully, and all the fear he should have experienced came to him then instead.</p><p>Wesley scooped up another large mouthful of his ice cream, enjoying the mixture of coldness and sugar whilst he also admired how Grady looked in this light, the line of his strong eyebrows, the spread of his dark lashes as he contemplated his coffee mug. A stack of pancakes were shoved to one side, near his right elbow. He had taken some bites from the pile and had then abandoned them. Grady always did this with his orders in diners and it was something they never addressed. There was more than one such unaddressed behaviour or mechanism, in Grady, in Wes, they were both aware of this but their memories of their shared childhoods meant they also both knew not to press such spots. </p><p>[Why are you watching me?] </p><p>Grady's eyes looked up at him, glaring. </p><p>Wesley took his two hands and pinching his fingers and thumbs together touched the tips to each other before pulling his hands away, moving them in a smooth arch, star-fishing the digits out.</p><p>[I like how you look in this light.]</p><p>He was rewarded for this with a dismissive gesture. </p><p>[You done with your ice cream yet?] He moved his fist in a circular movement in front of his chin, his facial expression clearly betraying his distaste for Wesley's choice of breakfast. </p><p>[You want some?]</p><p>[What?] He squinted his eyes, shaking his head slightly, not just giving him a very hard [no] but also adding his disbelief and questioning of Wesley's sanity. </p><p>[How can you eat that first thing in the morning?] He held his fingers on both hands curved, touching, akin to an m before turning them over, the thumbs out, almost resembling the way people held their hands when praying. This made sense to Wesley, he could see how the sign for [how] might have developed in such a way for didn't most prayers begin with a desperate appeal of [how], [how can I go on], [how could this happen], [how dare you do this to me]? </p><p>He shrugged, unbothered. He had long ago learned which expressions of Grady's to get annoyed by and which not to. </p><p>[Because I like it. Because I want to. Because I can. I'm an adult.]</p><p>[Seems to me more like the opposite of being an adult.]</p><p>[OK, maybe.] Wesley conceded, holding his hands palms up and see-sawing them gently in the air. [For others. But for me, it isn't.] He knew he was treading on thin ice but decided to plough ahead anyway. [The food we were given growing up, it was so awful, so boring, and we had absolutely no choice in the matter. I hated it.]</p><p>He remembered so clearly still, being a ravenous teenager and having to sit down to unappetising food, barely nutritious, prepared by those who did not care, who had lost as badly at life as the children who they were supposed to care for. It was what had prompted him to begin stealing – at the time, he had not understand that his huge appetite and the onset of puberty were linked. All he had understood was that he wanted something and so he would just have to take it for himself, and it wasn't his fault that he was being forced into doing something illegal in order to get it. Even then Grady had been nonplussed by what he chose to swipe – often he would pocket tins of fish or other kinds of meat but he preferred fish.</p><p>[Fish? Why fish of all fucking things?] His teenage companion would sign to him as he ate the oily fish straight from the tin, using his fingers as they hid out of sight. At the time, Wes had only been able to respond with [Why not?] but looking back, he could see the practical and also irrational reasons for making off with such items. Fish was good for you, even tinned, rich in protein and other things a teenage boy going through a huge growth spurt needed. The more kneejerk reaction or reason was a form of [fuck you] to those in the home – the tins were expensive depending on which brand or type of fish it was, and he was entitled to some fucking food that wasn't bought in bulk, as cheap as possible, to feed a group indiscriminately, with no interest in each individual. Yes, on one hand, food served a function, which in their case was hardly even being met, but on the other hand, it should also just be enjoyed, and they never got the opportunity to simply take pleasure in their food because there was no pleasure to be found.</p><p>Wesley folded down his ring and pinkie finger, crossing his first two fingers and circled them at his temple. [That's my reason, anyway.] The sign could also indicate [rationale] or [realize] and he wondered which meaning Grady had picked up on.</p><p>He looked around the diner, imagining how others couples ate together, shared in their meals. They did not. Wesley would have enjoyed doing so with his partner, he would have shared everything he had with him. He tried to picture them now, going to fancy restaurants for significant days or anniversaries and could not believe in it. He tried to envision an alternate universe where he and his teenage partner would have been able to go and share an ice cream together but again, he could not believe in it. It did not fit somehow and sometimes he would experience mild pangs over it without quite being able to express why.</p><p>He looked at Grady as he drove them in the direction of home. His brow was furrowed as he focused on the icy roads, navigating the miles carefully. </p><p>Where Wes had felt rage at being denied what he believed he should have had as a child, Grady had learned to never let anyone know that he wanted something. It had even spilled over into their relationship; Wesley was usually the one to initiate sex. He wasn't offended or hurt – as soon as he approached Grady, and began to touch him, he would respond with wild enthusiasm, his drive matching and sometimes outstripping Wesley's, a feral abandon that turned him on so fucking much, he loved to be fucked by Grady like that, feeling completely possessed by him in such moments. </p><p>This behaviour, to hide that he wanted something, had become apparent when they were teenagers, with Grady suddenly becoming distant and unreachable, sending Wesley into panic, initially, and then a tailspin of black feelings, until he had somehow worked out what was going on. Grady liked him, really liked him, and something in his feelings towards him had changed, and Wes realised he was experiencing the same realisation. And so Grady could not allow him to know he felt this, could not allow anyone to know, he could scarcely allow himself to admit to it because they had nothing, nothing except each other. Wesley remembered how they had sat side by side outside one day, after another attempt at playing catch, and he had extended his pinkie, curling it around Grady's. Grady had not rejected it, he sat still, only his chest rising and falling sharply for a few moments. And that had been that.</p><p>Wesley could recall when he first understood how this particular reaction of his partner would manifest itself – of course, just because it was the first time he had noticed it had no bearing on whether Grady himself was consciously aware of what he did. A part of Wesley was certain that he was and that he likely hated this part of himself for being out of control, Grady experienced an instinctive, primal fear of being out of control, only under very particular circumstances with Wesley could he allow himself to be out of control, powerless, something Wes knew was a precious gift to him from his partner and he was always so careful of it when presented to him. </p><p>This memory stood out in such sharp relief in Wes's mind for another reason, namely, that it was also the first time, groping his way towards a half-formed adult self, that he had understood that those supposedly in the position of authority over them, tasked with the duty of their welfare, were also as deeply flawed and irrational as their charges. </p><p>It had been dinner time but the person on duty that day had barely even begun preparing anything for the small group of boys resident, exhaustion and resentment evident in her body and her eyes. She had prepared food for herself first, taking care to cut the chicken breast up, finding some condiments, dressing, and salad for it, putting it together nicely with some rolls before settling in to enjoy it, oblivious to the children around her, waiting. Or perhaps she was not oblivious, it could have been the very case that in a position of having only the smallest piece of power she chose to exercise it now, a petty attempt at consoling herself for the life she found herself in. As an adult, and at a distance from it all, Wesley could to some degree understand this but he did not think any better of such people for it. </p><p>Grady had approached her then, asking about their own dinner and when they would eat. She had barely paused in her eating, indicating with her head to go do it himself. Wesley had followed Grady's gaze as he saw the plate of grey chicken left on the countertop, with none of the care and preparation which she had given to her own food. And it seemed so small and yet Wesley understood in an instance how this one gesture had summed up their life experience – [fuck you], at every turn, you get less, you get nothing, you are an after thought, you are not worth the time or effort, and you can do nothing about it. He saw the humiliation in this and saw it in Grady. He also saw how Grady had turned his back on her, rejecting this. Wesley had found him outside, throwing anything that came to hand into the distance, rocks, cans, any bits of trash. After that, Grady had joined Wesley in taking what he wanted from gas stations or other stores. </p><p>Sometimes he would ask Wesley if he wanted something from a gas station and Wes saw that Grady found it easier to get things on the pretext that Wesley wanted it too, so often he would sign [yes] even if he didn't want it. Then there were also days when Numbers would take a fucking gun and shoot it through a bag of chips. </p><p>They had finally reached home, near to midday. The return home after a completed job took the same loose routine and pattern each time, irrespective of the time of day or night when they arrived back, checking their apartment, showering, cleaning themselves of the trip, napping, then simply doing nothing, doing as they pleased, sharing their temporary liberty in companionable stillness. Somewhere in there, though it was not at a fixed point, they would also usually have sex, depending on what other needs were more urgent or whether their need for one another physically was indeed the most pressing. </p><p>Wesley often did not think of their shared childhood consciously or experience its effects in that way either. It was not as if he woke in the night, plagued by memories of their home. His nightmares were not about the past, they were about an uncertain future, one that might not have Grady in it. And yet it was evident that this time was still with them, even if they never expressed it. </p><p>Grady would more often than not consume food privately, some sort of animal instinct kicking in, perceiving a threat where there no longer was one, protecting what he had, not wanting to be visible in a vulnerable moment when he could be attacked. Wesley did not know what the right way of dealing with any of this was, if one even existed. Perhaps some things just never went away, no matter how much time passed.</p><p>Grady tended to drink great quantities of coffee, fussy about how it was prepared, needing it to be precisely to his liking. Often he preferred making it himself to attempting to order anything in a coffee shop. Wesley had never quite worked out what it was that went into making a coffee which was acceptable to his partner. He experienced a dull kind of mourning sometimes, when he caught himself about to make Grady a mug of instant coffee to bring to him in bed or as he sat in his armchair, reading, and he would have to stop himself, realising it wouldn't be welcome. He just wanted to give things to Grady, he had always wanted to give Grady things, it was another motivation for pocketing certain items, so that he could then gift them to his partner. </p><p>But maybe he could still give Grady things, he just needed to give him enough of these items. If he furnished Grady with a stash, a supply of snacks and sustenance, hidden away in places that only Grady would find or have access to, then maybe that would help, maybe that would be acceptable to his partner. And so Wes began to acquire small bags of nut and chips, and left them in the glove compartment, he put Hershey's and Jolly Ranchers in his bedside table drawer, purchasing [taking] these things indiscriminately, not sure which would be welcome, aiming for an array of small packets filled with food that only existed to be enjoyed, that had no function as such, which he could stock up as needed and they never had to say anything about it.<br/>
Wes did not expect Grady to ever acknowledge this, even if it was a successful ploy and that was fine. However, after a week or so, he had surreptitiously checked the various places he had laid his stock in and found it untouched. He waited longer again before checking once more and ascertaining it still had not been consumed. He had tried, he told himself, seeking to not feel dejected, trying to shake off his wish that he could have somehow witnessed Grady enjoying these little tastes and indulgences. Reluctant to give up, Wes waited a few days more, and once he established that nothing had been opened or consumed, he resigned himself to this failure, and began to dispose of the packets before they went out of date. </p><p>Wes was half-watching the TV, some kind of show where ordinary folks could win amazing, life-changing prizes, when Grady had stalked into the room, placing himself between his partner and the TV, signing with great agitation.</p><p>[What did you fucking do with it all?]</p><p>[What the fuck, what are you on about?]</p><p>[You threw it all out!] His signs were jagged as he took the first two fingers of both hands and jabbed them to the right.</p><p>Wesley was bewildered, but finally understood what Grady was referring to, and yet he remained bewildered at this reaction. </p><p>[You didn't eat any of it!] His own signs picked up some of Grady's energy, becoming increasingly frustrated and abrupt. </p><p>[That's not the point!] </p><p>[What, you don't want to eat it but you also want to keep it? That doesn't make any sense!] Wesley was on his feet now, tapping his index finger to his head.</p><p>[I KNOW THAT, WESLEY.] </p><p>Grady not only signed this last one, but unusually, Wesley saw that he had said it as well, his mouth opening and closing as he formed the words. </p><p>Their signing stopped and they stood there. Grady briefly raised his palms to his face, covering it with his hands before dropping them once more. He approached his partner then, and Wes braced himself, expecting that Grady needed to take his rage and frustration with himself out on someone, but the blow never came. Instead, Grady placed his hand against his cheek, rubbing his thumb over his skin, his gentle grip now moving to the back of his neck, curling there. Releasing him, he then signed:</p><p>[I don't make it easy for you.] He held his left hand palm up and swung his right hand upwards, brushing against the fingertips of his other hand. </p><p>[I can get you more.] Wes responded.</p><p>Grady held his fingers against his mouth before extending his hand towards Wesley, followed by his sign name. </p><p>There wasn't really anything else to be done or explained – Grady couldn't sign that he was sorry about this or that he could change, or even directly address where it all came from. It hung in the air, they both knew. Likewise, Wesley couldn't tell Grady how he wished things could be instead of how they were because it would never happen. He couldn't fix things, or solve them, he couldn't change their past. He could adapt, though. It might not be the way others did things, but it was the way they did things, and that was all that mattered.</p>
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